Ashes of Eden
by HiddenMasterpiece
Summary: "Until the ashes of Eden fall" A statement whose meaning undergoes a major change over the centuries Aziraphale and Crowley have known each other. The Second World War was a rough time for people, angels, not for demons, who rather danced on the pen of a hand grenade. Except for one. Crowley. His fate was interwoven with the one of a special angel... and the Ashes of Eden.
1. Eden

Eden.

There everything had started. The great tournament over the true nature of the human race.

Furthermore, the story of two souls, who couldn't have been more different. However right from the beginning their fates had been interwoven. Not in the enigmatical plan of the lord and savior, but with each other. At the first impression, they were two poles fighting for the opposite side. Two puzzle pieces, who didn't fit together at all. Both of them despised the other with a burning, yet fascinated passion. Neither of them was willing to give in, especially not to lose the battle of their principals. In any case, Crowley had never been more convinced to win a fight. "I won't stop until the Ashes of Eden fall." He had sworn himself.

Actually, it had never been the strong conviction that his side was the right one, which had driven him to keep going. Rather his growing displeasure, whenever he imagined the victory of this angel and his party. At least their battle had never been fought by force. Most of the time they had been contented with snappy comments and tensed conversations. Above all due to Aziraphale's refusal to use such barbaric means to answer the question: "Is the human nature good or bad?" The nasty moralizer always reasoned his cowardly behavior with his pure heart and an actual fight not being part of the divine plan. Unfortunately, he had always been right with that. So, their little war went on for quite some time, days turned to weeks, months, years and in the end decades. Only the way of their connection slowly changed rather unexpectedly over the passing centuries.

The more often their paths crossed, the more Crowley had to admit that this man was the only constant in his life, besides the never-ending human stupidity. So, with time their exchange of words grew more and more playful. A macabre joke here. An ironic tease there. Nothing too serious. The realization of them actually sitting in the same boat had hit the demon hard, once they both had been staring at Noah's Ark. They were only marionettes, controlled by different hands, but fixated onto the same goal: "Winning humanity for their puppeteer." Of course, they had both chosen different kinds of weapons in this war, however in the end they were only soldiers in a divine or satanic battle.

At some point of their history Crowley had realized that something about the angel's attitude towards him had changed as well. Suddenly they were greeting each other like old friends. Sometimes he would even bust himself worrying about his nemesis. Unbelievable. Yet the bitter truth. The older humanity grew, the less he had to work and the more his enemy seemed to give in. Instead Aziraphale had forfeited human temptations like wine, literature, and food, especially pastry. For the demon a rather pleasant, also amusing evolution of his once so righteous, honorable, and pure character. Without any doubt Crowley had also fallen for some little temptations, but surely not that much. He would never sink to such a level. Never. Also, he wouldn't have been a fallen angel, if he hadn't sinned from time to time… Or daily.

Time marched on, the ancient Greece fell, of course with a soft push into the wrong direction. The roman empire went down in flames, basically stabbed in the back by karma. The angel managed an abashing victory during the middle ages, but Crowley quickly corrupted every pope he could get his claws on. Quickly the tide turned. For a few years the black pestilence raged over the continents. The Spanish inquisition did as well. They delivered souls for of their both sides. The age of enlightenment spilled foil into the purgatory. Countless tragedies but also miracles happened, tipping the scale back and forth without both parties working a lot. Even though the angel still was more diligent than him.

The first world war had been harsh for both of them, demanding a lot of attention, sugar coated words, blood, sweat and swears. Crowley had caught himself worrying over his immortal "friend" from time to time, but life had done him the favor of letting their paths cross here and there, so he could check on him. In the middle of the war, his old friend hadn't been in a good shape. All the despair, darkness, cruelty… While the serpent had felt more powerful than ever, Aziraphale had suffered terribly. His angelic aura had decreased with every innocent soul that had gotten shattered between the battle fronts. During that time the demon had tried to take care off his friend, but there had barely been time for having lunch together. Getting drunk with each other. Their usual habits got broken, causing Crowley to feel drained as well.

Humans were plain individuals, always missing out on the bigger picture. He was sick of wasting his time with them, but on the other hand he had no choice.

Finally, Germany got defeated. Those dark times ended. One man's joy, another man's sorrow. Well, honestly the Archangel was feeling better, so they both had gained something out of it.


	2. Another one bites the dusk

Then…. Something happened. Something so terrible not even Crowley could have imagined in his wildest dreams. Another world war broke out. But this time the rotten and cold breath of death ravaged over the countries with an incredible speed.

The demon had never seen so much destruction, so much despair spread in such a little time. At first, he had been the happiest man alive, dancing in the gunpowder and spark filled air of Warsaw, while the civilization around him went down in flames. Another task the humans had fulfilled for him, without any effort on his side. Genocide, homicide, concentration camps, war crimes, death… destruction… structured extinction, music to his ears. He didn't miss out on the opportunity to notify the head office and claim this victory for himself.

When all of sudden he remembered someone, who wouldn't feel as amazing as he did, while staring down at the burning inferno, that once had been called Berlin. Aziraphale. In that moment his smile died, like a withering flower. "Fuck." He hissed, rubbing the bride of his nose. His heartbeat was racing, but not from euphoria, rather due to panic. Immediately his thoughts were overturning. Nevertheless, he was trying to find a hint, where his old friend's current location was. Damn humans with their delicate, but braincell wrecking alcohol…

Moscow? No. Rome? No. London! Yes! He had to be in London. Surely hiding with his books. Yessss. He tried to convince himself, for not slipping more into the fear, that was knotting his organs. His position on the rooftop of the Reichstag, surrounded by a strange symphony, consisting of the distorted howling of the air raid sirens, bomb impacts and people's screams wasn't his most desired place to be anymore. A sigh left his lips, while he focused on another familiar spot. It took him only seconds to manifest at another place.

Demons weren't subjugated by the laws of the human physic. At the moment he could still suppress his panic and worry, soothing himself with the conviction of having the familiar scent of old books, pastry, lavender, and incense in his nose at any second. Also hearing an upset Aziraphale scolding him, because he never bothered with the doors. Unfortunately, his feet didn't touch the carpet covered ground, instead he stumbled into the debris and remains of an old book shop. A blunt pain rushed through his back, when he hit the ground. No… was the first word, that came to his mind. Quickly he got up. He didn't even care about his expensive clothes being covered in dust.

"NO!" he yelled frustratedly. Distressed he removed his glasses, while his heartrate reached new peaks. Luckily, he didn't need oxygen, because out of tension he was unintentionally holding his breath. Green, snake-like eyes, wandered around, spotting one tragedy after the other. Books covered the wreckage. Tousled. Torn. Burnt. Pages were laying around, like snowflakes… fragments of a life's work… an existence. "AZIRAPHALE!" Crowley yelled at the top of his lungs, until his voice cracked. His movements became more erratic with every passing second. The ashes on the ground was cold… The impact must have been days ago.

Still he didn't give up. The shattered shop window crunched under his feet, but he didn't feel the pain of the pieces cutting through his soles. Currently he wasn't feeling anything, but spiking fear. "BE ALIVE YOU BASTARD!" he yelled into the ruins. The sunset bathed the macabre scenery in a fiery red, matching the fire that had destroyed all this knowledge. The manifestos of so many existences. Aziraphale's existence. Crowley's hands were bruised by the rough, pointed, and sharp debris. However, he kept moving them away, carelessly throwing them around. He didn't even know what he was searching for. Or if he wanted to discover something at all… His vision blurred, but he refused to give in to his tears. Why would he cry… he was immortal after all… he couldn't be dead…? He couldn't. "For hell'sss sake…" he hissed. Not even the foundation walls were still existent. They had bombed it to the ground.

The desire to burn humanity to the ground grew with every book-corpse, he brought to light. His whole body was tensed. His thoughts were screaming in his head, but he couldn't understand a word from them. No pain made it through his nervous system. Adrenaline blocked everything out. He didn't find anything useful. More and more evidence that his worst fears were true. Nothing else.

After what must have been hours, he gave up. With his back curved, he pressed one of the pages to his chest. A suffocated scream slipped from his lips, transforming into a violent sob. His sharp nails ripped the paper in his grip, while he tried to pull himself together. However, the stabbing pain inside of his chest, resembling guilt and the shattering knowledge of having lost the only constant in his life, while he had been celebrating so carelessly. What a macabre joke of the divine plan. For one second, he thought about praying, only for hysterically laughing at himself. Never. That wicked game was played on the backs of the weakest, while the highest powers just watched and laughed their fists off. Neither of their principals cared about the invalid fate of their servants, even though they pretended to.

The only person that had ever cared about him, was gone… they had killed his best friend… He couldn't bear to let these words slip from his lips; it was captured in his throat by sobs. Rage and Despair fought inside of him, like fire and ice. The cold, entirely numbing acknowledgement of his loss tried to extinguish the hateful raging, hissing flames of despise towards… towards everything. He felt like he was about to explode. A metallic taste spread over his tongue. While holding the sobs and screams in, he had bit his lip bleeding. One of his hands came up to them, because he hadn't felt any pain. Crimson red blood dripped onto the ground, causing a soft hiss. Demonic blood burnt like acid. Frustrated he cleaned his face with his sleeve.

Suddenly the rage inside of him merged with the despair, stabbing him into the stomach like a sword. How pathetic he was. Crying like a baby… He leant back, wiping the tears away from his eyes for clearing his sight.

Fortunately for him, because it made an envelope on the floor stand out. He frowned had he been lying there before? Or was he getting crazier? Both was plausible. To his annoyance his hands were still shaking, while he reached out for picking it up. The paper was withered, the wax seal had melted and smudged, burnt holes and cracks adorned its surface. Without actually knowing why he was paying attention to this worthless piece of garbage, probably out of the poor disbelief that this would make the tide turn, he tried to open it. By now he discovered that his hands were bleeding as well. "Fucksss." He hissed, taking his scarf off and wrapping it around his palms, otherwise the paper would run through his fingers.

It took his blurry eyes a while to decipher the messy handwriting. His heart skipped a beat. The language was German. "The Germansss? What?" he mumbled to himself in pure disbelief. All of sudden his head was empty. Only the words echoed inside of his head. Better said in his whole body, replacing the constant throbbing of his heart.

"Sehr geehrter Herr Aziraphale,

Wir schätzen uns sehr glücklich, dass Sie auf unser Angebot eingegangen sind. Es wäre zu schade gewesen, diese kulturellen Schätze unserem Feind zu überlassen. Insbesondere da es sich um Erstausgaben handelt, die dem Deutschen Volk keinesfalls verloren gehen dürfen.

Wir erwarten Ihre Lieferung pünktlich und in vollem Umfang, zum vereinbarten Datum. Kommen Sie pünktlich.

Sieg Heil!

Adolf Strauß"

Due to his contact to the German leadership, Crowley spoke German fluently, but his nerve wrecked brain needed an incredible long time to process the written word. His eyes widened, until his pupils were almost human like. His heartbeat increased, thundering through his body. An agreement? A meeting? With the Nazis?! Aziraphale, the biggest moralizer in the entire world had made a deal with those… those hellhounds? He could barely believe it. Still it sparked some hope inside of him, which started to melt the metaphorical blade cutting his guts.

Maybe… Maybe he hadn't been here during the bomb impact. His body came back to life. Serpent eyes shot up to the date of the letter. 01.06.1940. A week ago. As if a lightning had hit him, he jumped to his feet. The chance was small. Almost void. However, he refused to give up now.

New energy was flooding through his veins, reviving his demonic aura. His eyes started to glow, showing off the purgatory inherent in them. Finally, the cuts on his hands healed, while he miracled himself some new clothes. Those power-hungry, small-minded parasites had messed with the wrong demonic powers. Sometimes the world referred to them as the devil's personal army, but they had no clue. Crowley would show them.

_"There are plenty of ways that you can hurt a man_

_And bring him to the ground_

_You can beat him, you can cheat him_

_You can treat him bad and leave him when he's down._

But there is nothing worse than hurting hissss besssst friend." He quoted his favorite band Queen, while he waited for his entire power to return to him.

Finally, he felt the familiar sparkling under his skin, signalizing him that his pilot flame was burning again. Instead of simply dissolving into a cold of smoke, his silhouette was framed by flames. With the letter clutched in his hands, he started to imagine the Pariser Place at central Berlin.


	3. I want it all I want it now

If he wanted to find out who and where that Adolf Strauß was, he needed to ask veeery nicely at the Reich Main Security Office.

He had dressed himself up, but not for the simple-minded secretary in the lobby, rather for the lazy bastard, whose head he would have to rip off, for getting the information he wanted.

He snapped his fingers, knowing his longest and loyal companion would not disappoint him. In the blink of an eye, he could hear the familiar purring of his beloved Bentley echoed in his ears. He pushed up his sunglasses, while the door swung open for him. His baby. Right after he had let himself fall into the soft, neat leather seat, the door closed, and the radio turned on. His vehicle was almost like a child to him and it knew his father very well, because the song that was busting out of the speakers was "Can't stop me now" by Queen.

Due to the constant alarm condition and bomb warning the streets were empty. Actually, he wouldn't have cared if there had been someone in his way either. His baby could take a lot, so 110 mph through destroyed streets weren't such a big deal. Fortunately, the first bomb rain on Berlin had been yesterday, so most of the intact and working at full speed. Therefore, his conviction that he'd get a hold of the necessary people there. His fingers tapped onto the steering wheel impatiently.

When all of sudden he hit the brake hard. The seat belt cut into his neck. The voice in the radio wasn't following the lyrics anymore, someone else was talking to him. "Crowley! Where have you been?! You should have given Werner Heisenberg the brilliant idea for solving their instability problem. The German atomic weapon development needs to advance!" his commander's voice scolded him, but he didn't have time for that bullshit now. But he couldn't upset them, or otherwise they may send one of their rats after him. He took a deep breath, trying to sound as enthusiastic as possible. "Oh… damn sorry, I was busy advancing the mass extermination techniques and didn't make it back on time. I, I will do it tomorrow. I am sorry." He lied, actually the Nazis had found out about the possibilities of Arsenic themselves, but he had never bothered with to adorn himself with foreign laurels.

"Crowley! It was a set date! How can you act so careless?!" the voice kept scolding him, giving him a major headache. "I already apologized! Maybe send Hastur, I am pretty sure he would give his ugly right arm for that task." He suggested, feeling his palms getting sweaty. "No! You are our best man, so stop disappointing us and fulfill your given task!" his principal yelled, causing the demon to roll with his eyes. In his head his thoughts were struggling to find an excuse.

"But, but right now there are more important things than atomic weapons?" he tried to make excuses. "Oh, and what could that be, Mr. Crowley?" was the sarcastic reply. His entire body heated up. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. "Well, the Germans aren't in such a bad condition at the moment. Maybe we should focus more on their concentration camps, since if they win this war, they will build them everywhere for sure." He stuttered out, being a bit shocked over his scrupulous words himself. "hm… not a bad idea… What do you have in stock for them then?" the voice replied, sounding rather curious.

"Uhm… Uhm…" he faltered. "We… We could tell them to… I don't know…. Try to… Yes! Yes, we will teach them to build furniture out of the leftovers from the corpses. And… maybe to… experiment with them?" he suggested out of the blue. "Crowley… Crowley… you always make me smile. Advance these ideas and turn them in at full moon. I can't wait. That's why you're our best man." His boss praised him, causing the serpent to sigh in relief. "T…thankssss Sir." He hissed, more making it sound more authentic.

Finally, the music returned. What a relief. A soft smirk danced over his lips, because all his ideas had already been invented by a sick soul, called Dr. Josef Mengele. To his luck hell always was late with their reports due to missing organization and technical advance. "backward, stupid assholes" he added angrily. "What? The connection was bad, what did you say?" the voice asked, causing the purgatory to freeze in his veins. "Nothing! I was just scolding myself for forgetting about my task today." He replied like a shot from a pistol. "Oh Mr. Crowley, there's no need to be so harsh to yourself. You're one of the cruelest, most scrupulous demon, hell has ever produced. As long as we have you and Christian priests raping kids, we don't have to worry about our victory." His chef replied with a dark laugh.

Afterwards the calming guitar riffs of Queen washed over Crowley again. He hit the gas pedal. Back to business, he had wasted enough time. The motor howled, causing its owner to have a bad conscience for a second. He would make it up to him with hot wax once this was over. For now, he had to reach his destination.

The box shaped structures greeted him with the usual corrosive white and the many columns typical of the German architectural style. Surprisingly, it was hardly destroyed, probably because the German air defense was protecting this district especially. At least that meant, he would find his answers here, Crowley thought while getting out of the car. He took the marbled stairs up to the exaggerated front door hurriedly, always two at once. The guards in front of him tried to block his way, bluffed their boring paroles towards him, but he only snapped his fingers, causing them to disappear… wherever, he didn't care. The doors miraculously swung open for him on their own.

Isabelle Schmid was sitting behind her desk, listening to the radio in exertion, fearing to hear the name of her husband or another bomb warning for her district, when the actually locked doors swung open. Immediately she looked up, awaiting Russian troops, but in the doorway stood only a man. The guards must have let him in, so he was probably wanted here.

Nevertheless, her eyes scanned over him cautiously. He wore a formal black suit, a blood-red shirt, a black tie, and his Italian designer shoes, also a pair of black sunglasses. Even though she was a married woman, this man had an immense attraction on her that she could not explain. Maybe the prominent cheek bones, the clear skin or his ginger hair, that reached his chin and framed his face perfectly drew her to him or he had hexed her? She didn't know. All she knew was that his warm, friendly voice gave her goosebumps.

"Guten Morgen Frau Schmid." (Good Morning Miss Schmid) he greeted her, she was so busy wondering why her body was reacting this way, she didn't even bother that he knew her name. "Guten Morgen mein Herr." (Good morning Sir) "Ich muss Sie leider informieren, dass wir geschlossen haben, also welches Anliegen Sie auch immer haben, bitte bringen Sie es vor, wenn wir geöffnet haben. Oder haben Sie einen Termin?" (I am sorry to inform you, that we are closed at this time. So, whatever brings you here, could that wait until we are opened again, or do you have an appointment?) He flashed her a stunning smile, meanwhile he had reached the reception, leaned casually against it. "Ich habe einen Termin." (I have an appointment) he lied without hesitation, pulling his glasses down a bit. "Wirklich? Wie ist Ihr Name?" (Really? What's your name?) she asked, sounding suspicious. "Ihr schlimmster Albtraum." (Your worst nightmare) he hissed, as this stupid turkey decided to ask questions after all, although her slow thoughts had wasted the last two minutes wondering how talented he might be in the bedroom.

She had already opened her mouth for screaming, but he snapped his fingers and she passed out. "As if was interested in someone like you." He spat arrogantly and walked past her, to the stairs that led upwards. The head office was on the third floor. On his way, he pulled out the letter from his pocket. With a kick, he opened the door in front of him, revealing a rather expected sight. A fat, bald-headed man who was lounging behind his desk and avoiding military service.

"Wie kommen Sie den hier rein?" (How did you get in here?) he yelled, his face turning red with rage. "Durch den Vordereingang" (Through the front door) Crowley replied calmly, with a mocking grin upon his face. "Was für eine Frechheit! Wie können Sie es wagen? Wer sind Sie überhaupt?" (What an insolence! How dare you? Who even are you?) he kept demonizing him, what a tiring conversation. "Sicherheitsdienst!" (Security) the man called out. Crowley was sick of this drama, snapping his fingers for making him freeze. The noise died immediately, causing him to sigh in relief. Even though his heartbeat was racing inside of his chest, the demon made his way to the desk in smooth, relaxed steps. "Sie werden mir nun ein paar Fragen beantworten. Genau genommen nur zwei, das sollte ihr Spatzenhirn nicht überfordern. Wer und wo ist Adolf Strauß?" (Now, you will answer a few questions for me. Actually, only two, that shouldn't overtax your birdbrain.) he stood behind him now, leaning over his shoulder, watching that cowards sweat and shiver in fear. "Er… Er ist einer der Generäle… er… er sollte hier in Berlin s…sein für die Konferenz." (He… he is one of the generals, he should… he should be in Berlin for the conference) the fatso pressed out, looking like a carp on land while speaking.

Satisfied with that answer the demon petted his head in a humiliating way "Good boy." He mocked, while walking out of the room. After thinking about it for a few seconds, he decided to do the allied forces a favor. Sometimes the misery of one person was more important than the upper hand in a war. Once he had passed the doorstep, the entire building miraculously stood in flames. He could hear the shocked yell of the secretary, causing him to smirk, while he walked back to his car. An explosion echoed through the empty streets; shattered glass rained down onto the pavement. But Crowley didn't bother with looking back.

"A conference? And they didn't invite me? What a terrible mistake." He chuckled, but his smile died down within seconds, when he thought about the situation… This had to be worth it. He had to be alive… he just had to. "Hold on old friend…" he mumbled to himself, while getting into his car. Suddenly he remembered the promise he had made centuries ago. "I won't stop until the Ashes of Eden fall." He whispered, shocked at the change that the meaning had undergone.

Since now… now it meant he wouldn't stop staying by his side, instead of at the opposite side of the battlefield. He gulped heavily, trying to fight back the upcoming misery.

No. Focus was necessary now!


	4. Wish I'd never been born at al

Next stop. The secret conference bunker of Adolf Hitler himself.

After all it had been a bad idea to convince him that it was necessary. But who could have predicted this outcome? At least Crowley knew its location, otherwise he probably would have lost even more time. His heartbeat speeded up, whenever his thoughts only went close to the dark corner, in which all those terrible scenarios were in full swing.

His beloved Bentley tried to cheer him up by playing Bohemian Rhapsody. However, he was so caught up in his thoughts, he didn't even realize the song had changed. His mind still attacked him, because his own conscience wanted to figure out why he was so worried over his… actual nemesis. **Bullshit!** They weren't enemies anymore. They were friends. Best friends. A shiver ran through him, as if his scales were moving under his skin. His demonic side rebelled against this realization. This couldn't have been less important to his mind.

In between stood his heart, torn between the battlefronts. On the one hand he should have been happy about the disappearance of the angel, at least his satanic side was, while on the other hand, he felt like someone had ripped out one of his wings. He felt incomplete. As if he had lost his counterpart. Literally he had.

Good couldn't exist without the evil and the other way around… And he couldn't exist without that naïve, moralizing nuisance by his side either. His nails dug into the steering wheel deeper. Slowly he removed one of them, fixing his sunglasses, secretly checking if he hadn't allowed himself the nakedness of letting a tear slip. What a wicked world they lived in. Of course, his devilish mind could imagine what they possibly had done to him… However, he needed to prevent himself from letting his thoughts slip to those dark places or maybe he would have another tantrum.

In the given situation not the best option, since he didn't trust himself at this point anymore. Maybe he would miracle all of the German weapons into confetti canons. Or even worse give the Americans the missing hint to atomic warfare. Who knew, what his twisted mind would think off.

The worst case would be, if he didn't find him or even worse was too late. Those two options, only the thought of them made his guts twist and knot. A soft hiss left his lips. Afterwards he bit his lip for distracting himself, a habit he had started centuries ago… Something only Aziraphale had ever noticed. He did that when he was distressed or nervous. Mostly earning an invitation for a cup of cocoa, which quickly transformed into several glasses of wine. Those memories strengthened his belief… he couldn't be dead. Not now. They were meant to stick together until the Ashes of Eden fell. Whether as enemies or friends, he didn't even care at this point.

He hadn't watched out where he was driving or if he had hit something or better said someone. All unimportant. Fortunately, he hadn't taken a wrong turn, at least not with his Bentley, probably in life several times.

The degree of destruction around him increased linearly with the range that separated him from the city center. The same went for the misery around him, but who cared? People were to blame for their own misery.

Nevertheless, he was relieved when he finally left the city limits behind, especially because he could now step on the gas pedal a little harder. The secret bunker was out in the woods, several miles away from Berlin. It wouldn't have been a problem to simply rush in and pull that general out by his nose if necessary, but it surely wasn't the greatest idea. Quickly he checked the time on his watch, followed by frustrated sigh. It was only 1 pm. So, the conference anyhow had already started and wouldn't finish until deep in the night. Those Germans always wasted a lot of time by losing their temper and kissing the ass of their Führer. Terrible. Just like in hell.

He rolled with his eyes, while forcing his thoughts to come up with a plan. "I am not even drunk today, so don't fuck with me." He threatened his own mind, who refused to come up with a proper idea. I can't miracle my way in and out so easily, my superiors would notice it, he thought annoyed. The Bentley protested softly, as he exchanged the paved road for a country road that wasn't refurbished. This would cost him more than just a hot waxing. Crowley sighed once again. Usually he preferred well thought-out, elegant, and clean games, but somehow, he mostly ended up with improvisation.

For a moment he regretted not asking that fat pig if Adolf Strauß had a family, he could have used that to his advantage. Maybe he should risk it and simply assume that he had a wife. The old: "Your wife is on the telephone" Trick had never let him down before. In the end he could still kill them all and do the Allied forces a favor. Then he'd probably have to corrupt another state, the Soviet Union, or the United States for fulfilling his monthly debit.

In the middle of nowhere, he parked his car. The forest around him laid calm, it wasn't bothered by the war raging around in the country. Only in the distance the canon shots and sirens echoed, preventing birds from singing their tunes. Aziraphale would have complained about that, while Crowley had never attached much importance to it. Now to one of the unpleasant parts, another change of clothes. Nazi were like dogs, but instead of sniffing on each other's butts, they identified their kind in a similarly stupid way, uniforms, and certain paroles. Sometimes he wondered if all of them were simply retarded, but then he felt sorry for everyone else in the world with a handicap, who would get associated with those morons then. After he had brushed back his hair, he focused on his clothes. A demonic miracle happened, and he was dressed up in a black leather uniform. His heavy boots echoed through the woods, while he walked towards the "secret" camp.

Two guards surrounding it, were clutching to their Modell 43 automatic rifles like toddlers to their rattles. Slowly he approached, causing them to tense even more, all eyes were fixed onto him by now. Fortunately, his black goat with the necessary symbols and the fake medals on his chest, made him look like he belonged here. Actually, like he even had an important role in this game. The small hut behind them, was basically just decoration. Inside he'd probably find a desk, a few chairs, a card without any pins, most importantly a telephone.

The guards raised their right arms, screaming the usual bullshit, forcing him to echo the gesture. "Sir, mit wem spreche ich Sir?" (Sir, who am I talking to, Sir?) asked the one closest to him. "Mein Name ist Crowley. Feldwebel Crowley. Ich wurde eingeladen, um eine wichtige Nachricht zu überbringen." (My name is Crowley Sergeant major Crowley. I was sent here for delivering a message) he introduced himself. The guards looked at each other in suspicion. "Welche Nachricht? Wer schickt Sie?" (What does the message say? Who sent you?) the soldier raked further. The demon put on a serious expression. "Mich schickt der erste Unteroffizier von General Goebbles. Der Inhalt der Nachricht ist streng geheim und muss umgehend dem Führer überbracht werden." (I was sent by the first officier under general Goebbles. The message is top secret, also urgent and the Führer needs to hear it immediately.") he lied, sounding angrier and more impatient.

But the guards still weren't trusting him "Wenn das so ist, wieso hat man uns nicht telefonisch verständigt?" (If that's the truth, why didn't they call us?) one of the asked cautiously. Crowley gulped; he hadn't thought about that. Focus… Focus… Then he had a brilliant idea. His expression changed to shocked in seconds "Ein Anruf?!" he asked completely outraged. "Haben Sie eine Ahnung wie unsicher die Leitungen sind. Wo wurden Sie denn ausgebildet?! Seien Sie froh, dass ich sie nicht gleich melde, wegen ihrer Unfähigkeit!" (A call?! Do you have an idea, how insecure the telephone lines are? Where did you get your training? Be glad I don't report you due to a lack of skill!)

Humans were strange individuals, who usually avoided conflicts if they weren't sure that their opponent was inferior. Whenever the bit off more than they could chew, then they whether were suffering from overestimation of their own capabilities or foolhardy heroism. This informal law also applied here, because suddenly the guards were letting him pass. Perfect. He had to suppress swaying his lips like usually while walking, what a terrible era for the world. Finally, he had reached the small hut. Inside was exactly what he had predicted. He snapped his fingers. A loud, ringing tone echoed through the empty hut for a few seconds. Quickly he picked up, before one of the guards would do it. Now the next difficult task. He left the receiver on the table. In a hurry he left the hut, for reaching the hidden hatch in the floor.

Now he even needed to get his hands dirty. Disgusting. He brushed away the leaves and branches, for opening it. Immediately all eyes from down there, were fixed onto him. "Was soll das?!" (What's the matter?) the Führer bluffed, his voiced sounded even more funny in real life. Crowley always had to restrict himself from laughing about the irascible, crazy wretch with the most pathetic beard in the entire universe. The demon's eyes scanned around, until he found his target. At first, he needed to make a foul out of himself and show the Führer respect with the necessary gestures. Finally, he could lure this parasite into the sat-up trap. "General Strauß Ihre Frau ist am Telefon. Es ist wichtig." (General Strauß your wife is on the phone, in an important matter.) For a few seconds, that caused Crowley to already lift up his hand for miracling his way out of there, the man's face showed confusion. But then he nodded and made his way to the door, smiling softly at him. The silence between them was nerve wrecking, while they made their way to the hut.

Once they were inside the mortal didn't take the receiver into his hands, instead he turned around, facing him. His blue eyes were staring into his soul, if he had possessed one. Well, at least not his own. Suspiciously he closed the door behind him "Wollen Sie nicht mit ihrer Frau sprechen?" (Don't you want to talk to your wife?) he asked, maybe this asshole was already suffering from dementia. "Mr. Crowley don't try to play games with me." The general replied, in perfect British English, while a vicious smile spread over his ugly face. Crowley hadn't awaited that. He almost took a step back in surprise but forced the man to keep looking at his face in bewilderment. "I don't play games." He replied, instantly regretting it. "Oh yes, you do. You play all of us for fools. But not me Mr. Crowley, or should I better say Crawley?" he replied, in a smooth, mocking tone.

The demon's eyes lit up with rage. How could this plain mortal dare to speak to him like this? Most importantly, where did he know his old name from. "Who do you think you are? What ssssick game are you playing?" he hissed at him, threateningly he took a step forward. He would strangle him by hand if he had to. Perhaps this puffed-up military needed a little reminder of who he was facing here, so he took off his sunglasses. His serpentine pupils shot around with poisonous glances, but this man didn't bother taking a step back. "A game? No this is more than a game." He answered; a way too calm. Now it was enough. Crowley's patience snapped, just like him.

He snatched forward like a viper, crashing the back of that miserable mortal on the table while his fingernails firmly bored into the collar of his uniform. "Listen to me now. I have had a very rough day so far, so if you want to ever get out of here alive, you will answer my questions now." He hissed into his face, showing off his split tongue. To his surprise the man didn't show any fear, instead he started laughing. What kind of maniac was he? "Let me take a guess, your question is, where we hide your little angel, isn't it?" he mocked him with his tone, his eyes. His entire posture scoffed him.

Immediately he froze, while he repeated those words in his head. His little angel? How the heaven did he know about… Who was that guy? He lifted him und crashed his back against the table surface once again. "I don't know why you know about him and me not being entirely human, but I don't care. Answer your own question." He ordered strictly; his voice shivered with rage. "And why should I do that? Because you are in the superior position? Who says that?" Strauß challenged him once again. "Let me tell you a funny little story, before you rip out my soul or whatever demons do." He suggested, still smiling arrogantly directly into his face. "I wasn't here for hearing fairy tales. Answer. The. Fucking. Question." Crowley hissed at him. "But you would surely like it, it's about you. And why the suffering of your friend and yours is entirely your fault." Adolf promised him.

This statement hit Crowley hard. Harder than any bullet. He stumbled back and let go off his collar. "Why should this be my fault?" he asked, his thoughts repeating that sentence until the question mark at the beginning went missing. "This is your fault" echoed through his mind. Meanwhile the man sat up, fixing his uniform. "You are the one, we used to lure that naïve little dumpling into our trap." He revealed to him, pointing at the chair beside him. "Sit down and listen to uncle Adolf." He ordered in a fatherly tone, only increasing Crowley's nausea. However, he sat down. "Me? How should you have done that? I mean I have worked for your side yes, but Aziraphale had nothing to do with that." He asked confused, staring to the ground, while his mind was going 300 miles per hour, browsing through all the possibilities that could have made this situation his fault.

"Yes, yes, that's the point. You worked with us and well… one of our highly esteemed colleagues noticed something supernatural about you." He informed him with a proud smirk. "And what has Aziraphale to do with that?" the demon bluffed back angrily. "Wait for it, wait for it. Show a pit of patience." Adolf mocked him once again. After a break that felt like a lifetime he finally continued to talk. "But it was very clear, that we couldn't just beg you to win a war for us. We were certain about the fact, that every disaster that had ever happened to our world, somehow was connected to you. At first, we had been scared, but then we asked ourselves the most brilliant question. "If everything bad in this world is linked to a demon, then everything good in the world must logically be linked to an angel, right?"" He nodded and fixed his hair.

"So, our research team worked hard for figuring that out. Indeed, we did. We traced back your history and at certain inflection points, where catastrophes turned into miracles, we found him. Your Aziraphale. This was around two years ago. Of course, we couldn't just capture one of you, we needed to work in the shadows. That was the beginning of the project "Ashes of Eden" my friend. The German Reich needed to secure both of your overwhelming supernatural powers for its Volk. Despite the danger of incurring God's or Satan's wrath.

It was also clear that outsmarting this gullible angel would be a way easier than luring you into a trap, but we knew that if he had him, you'd automatically come to us. And here you are." He announced victoriously. "Our secret service worked until their eyes bled for figuring out how intimidate and close your friendship was. And surprise, surprise obviously that poor soul cared more about you than anything else. It was so easy for us to lure him into our arms. We send him a letter, in which we claimed that we had captured you and were keeping you locked in the St. Maria's Church in Berlin, where you were suffering terrible and we had him to our feet.

He became our little marionette, but if we simply had written that out, you wouldn't have come to search for him like this. You probably would have burnt the entire empire to the ground or something. So, we made up the book delivery story and bombed that little shop to the ground.

What a pity, all those unique books. At that time Aziraphale had already been taken over by us. We brought him to a special concentration camp we had only build up for figuring out how to turn his divine force into our strongest weapon. Fortunately, he wasn't as resilient as we had thought, so by now he's… not in such a good condition anymore. We needed to hurry and bring you under our force as well. To be honest you are nearly a week too late.

We had thought after the bombing of the book shop around two weeks ago, it would probably take you five up to seven days to find us. But fourteen days? Maybe we should have tried to outsmart you first. Your arrogance blinded you." He went on with his monologue every word was like a whip lash to Crowley's back.

However, Crowley refused to give in now, he was diligently thinking about a plan that would secure both off them, but the constant reminder of this being his fault and his friend suffering made it very difficult to plan. "Before you start either rip my heart out or do worse to me, damn my soul into the purgatory blablabla. I have to warn you, if you don't cooperate now, your friend will get into huge trouble. One of the first things we found while searching for him, was a sword, that had been linked to his name since the garden of Eden. A flame sword. And you know what this kind of flames are? Yes, purgatory! We got it with a little help of his divine magic. So, if I was you, I would cooperate like a good boy now." He threatened with a manic smile upon his lips.

The immortal didn't know what to say anymore. His throat was tied shut. His heartbeat was so fast, he couldn't tell anymore if it was beating at all. His head was nearly empty. Only filled by imagines of his friend suffering… because of him… always because of him… How matter how he twisted the words of this bastard. It was his fault.

"I…" he started, but he stood with his back against the wall. "I will cooperate, if… if you set him free afterwards. He's useless to you. The divine power can only be used for doing good and your motives aren't. Meanwhile my power is only there for causing destruction, suffering, and pain. So much pain." He tried to convince him, his voice was shaky, he had lowered his head in defeat.

The general thought about it for a few seconds. Then he chuckled and held his hand out to him. "Deal." He agreed with a malicious smirk that could have been the one of a demon. "Deal." Crowley whispered, not even falling had felt like such a huge defeat.


	5. Too much love will kill you

Their agreement was sealed with a handshake, just like his fate.

At the moment he couldn't have cared less about that. His thoughts were running in circles, slowly strangling every other helpful idea. Despair started to nest in his chest, bringing its children: guilt fear and regret. So much regret. Usually, he was the one who evoked these feelings in others and subsequently enjoyed their agony. However, experiencing it himself was worse than every punishment hell had ever executed on him. Well, this was not quite true. The cruel realization that he was the one to blame for the most important person to him being under the force of these monsters was worse than a shower with holy water. "If you could do yourself the favor and put your hands forward?" the deep voice ripped Crowley out of his thoughts. He didn't even pay attention to the scornfulness in his words. Instead he mechanically put his hands forwards.

Of course, he wouldn't accept all of this so easily, he still was better than that prick, but for now, he had to. For the sake of Aziraphale. Metal handcuffs hit his skin. At first, he thought their coldness burnt his hands, but it didn't stop. Instead it forced him to bite his lip down, suppressing a scream of pain. "What the hell are thosssse?" he hissed angrily, trying to sooth the torture by pressing his limbs close against his clothes. It burnt like they had poured melted silver over his wrists, his skin casted blisters wherever they touched him. "Fuck…" he swore under his breath, trying to keep calm.

"That my devilish friend are handcuffs forged in the holy Easter fire, extinguished in holy water and soaked in heavenly magic. I thought you'd like them." Strauß explained to him with a triumphant grin. "N… Nice idea." The demon stuttered out, trying to miracle them away. However, nothing happened. Even more shocked he stared at his hands. "Surprised? We are holding an angel hostage and you still think you can outsmart us with those cheap tricks?" Adolf asked him, furrowing his eyebrows, as if he tried to understand his dumb arrogance. "It was worth a try you… you bastard." The serpent spit the words into his face as if they were poisonous. "Poor demon, enslaved by a single, worthless mortal." The general mocked back, taking a step forward, his eyes were sparkling with exuberant sadism. "Come on, dare again. Insult me." He challenged the ginger, while shoving his hand into his jacket, as some kind of thread. 

Without knowing what it was that his interlocutor was holding in his hands. Crowley felt fear rise inside of his chest. Still his own pride forbade him to stay silent now. "Then what asshole?" he hissed into his face, his rage covered up the pain caused by the handcuffs, which were etching themselves through his skin. The man tsked at him, meanwhile shaking his head, as if he was scolding an impolite child. "Mr. Crowley, you're forcing me to do this." He lied, in a voice that sounded almost sorry. However, the bitter truth was, he enjoyed every bloody second of this.

A metallic click echoed through the room. More silver flashed up from under the jacket. The demon took a step back, trying to protect his skin. Unfortunately, the handcuffs limited his possibilities. The general shot forward, pulling his raised hands away. An angry hiss slipped from the serpent's lips, when suddenly the pain of ten thousand volt shot through his entire buy. An agonizing scream emerged from his lips. Without any warning he felt his legs giving out, as if a sledgehammer had hit him into the spine.

His nerves were so overwhelmed, his eyesight started to flicker. Breathing got more and more difficult, while thousand thorns dug into his throat. If his brain had functioned right at this point, he would have yelled: "What the hell is this?" but he was too busy trying not to pass out. The entire body was shaking, his muscles refusing to obey him. Finally, the pain lessened, instead polarized around his neck. Tears of pain had collected in the corners of this eyes, while his hands shot up to his throat. A loud hiss followed by the disgusting smell of burnt flesh proved his suspicion. A collar. His eyes widened in shock even more. How could they dare… but…? Why was it burning so much? Due to his hands already being numb, he didn't realize the contact with the metal was etching his flesh. Desperately he tried to rip it off, only causing it to touch more of his skin. Every time sending a new jolt of pain through him. Hot blood dwelled out of the injuries, soaking his clothes. Once again, his view started to flicker. Could this get any worse? Yes. The last thing he saw before falling unconscious, was the utterly satisfied, scornful smile of that monster towering over him. "Welcome to hell Mr. Crowley." He purred into his ear threatening.

There was one positive aspect about passing out, both his mind and the torture were silenced by darkness. During his immortal existence he had already endured some suffering. So far, he had only fainted once. While falling from heaven to hell. It had been an inconceivable pain. As if they had ripped out every nerve from his body for assembling them back together, forging them in purgatory. They had bathed his wings in boiling pitch. All the innocent white had been been consumed and replaced by darkness. The crowning glory had been the shattering of his halo, when he had hit the rock bottom. The shards had rained over his body, cutting, and etching through his skin. His eyesight got blurred by them piercing his eyeballs. All of the angelic blue was drowned in his own blood. The few hours of transforming into a demon had felt like decades… Whenever he remembered this incident, he had to hold back vomiting.

The ache unleashed from the collar around his neck, nearly felt as bad as falling. There was one significant difference. His determination. Right now, he was so determined to get through this, not even such agony could stop him. During his angelic life he had never cared about anyone, while nobody had cared about him either. In heaven they all claimed to be there for each other, that they were a huge family, while in reality they all just tried to reach the highest level of power and wealth. Sometimes he had the feeling that heaven was worse than hell, but better at hypocrisy. Also, cleaner. Here and now, there was one soul that care about him. One pure, naïve soul that had endured probably the same amount of pain, maybe even worse than him… Only for him… Aziraphale…

The guilt hit his guts with a sledgehammer once again. However, it snapped back the ability of his muscles to sense something. Slowly his mind started to form proper thoughts again. A deep, pained groan left his lips while he tried to blink. Some gloom flickered through his eyelids. Finally, he realized that he was moving. Those bastards. The muted sound of a car-engine sneaked into his ears. His muscles refused to move, they were stiff and drained from the pain. At least he could breathe again, still with a stinging pain in his neck.

Usually demons didn't have to breath, but in such a state his humanoid body was thankful for every source of resource. Opening his eyes costed him more power than every miracle. The light around him burnt his iris, causing him to hiss. A few blinks were enough to soothe them. At least he could finally recognize his environment. A cage. Those stunted humans had tied him down on the wooden floor of a huge cage, like a dangerous animal. Even if he had been free, he wouldn't have been able to move a single centimeter. Over the cage they had thrown one of the camouflaged blankets, to hide their abomination from the rest of the world. The road the army vehicle was on, was very bumpy. Whenever they hit something the tarp exposed some golden sunlight, that burnt his eyes once again.

Finally, he gained back the ability to form a reasonable thought. In the current situation, he needed to keep calm. Even though inside of him his emotions nearly caused his chest to burst, he tried to figure out, what he'd do now. His common sense told him, that they wouldn't stick to the agreement at all. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but feel a single spark of hope inside of him. As long as he could get his best friend out of there, all this agony was worth it. However, the more he thought about it the worse the situation appeared. Their precaution to seal his ability to let miracles happen, limited his possibilities immensely.

Perhaps he should focus on getting rid of these handcuffs first? Definitely. Almost scared he glanced down at his wrists, feeling his breath hitch at the sight. The silver had eaten into his skin so deeply, he could see the bones shimmering under burnt flesh. His nerves had already given out there and went numb. Damn. With all his concentration he tried to move one of his fingers, but only earned a painful shivering. At least they weren't paralyzed. Still, escaping would be a lot more difficult than he had assumed it. His head fell back in despair, hitting the floor. Out of sight out of mind didn't work at all, still he closed his eyes. What should he do? Trust them? Never. Cut his hands off? No, neither did he have a knife, nor would it remove the collar from his neck. Ask his supervisors for help? They wouldn't care. Or better said, probably would give him another promotion for making that angel suffer so much. So, they maybe would get him out of that situation, but never Aziraphale. His opportunities shrunk with every second until only one was left… Praying. Even the word made his guts cringe.

Somehow, he wondered by Aziraphale's principalities hadn't saved him yet. They were stricter when it came to him missing out on reports. Usually, they should have noticed and saved him by now. Expect if he… The realization made his eyes widen, causing them to burn again. "Argh." He groaned, biting his lip down, hissing: "that… kind-hearted, stupid bastard." Of course, he would have never told them to get him out of there, if he was still blinded by the disbelief, that the Nazis had Crowley under their control. He felt a lump forming in his throat, as if he was close to crying. Nevertheless, he would never allow himself to shed a tear. Especially not now.

Furthermore, he had a new option now. Even though his tongue twisted by the thought of praying, he needed to tell them. Once his old friend was free, he could start to think about his own escape as well. How should he reason his actions? A demon praying for an angel to be saved, probably isn't the best idea… His thoughts were colliding like a car crash. "Fuck!" he growled, closing his eyes again in defeat. Whether it was the despair, that was slowly involving into madness or his priorities he decided to take the risk. What should they do to him? Tell his supervisors? As long as they got his old friend out of there in the meantime, he'd take the holy water shower. Probably it would save him from a lot of torture anyway.

His nails dug into the wooden floor, while he forced his damaged lungs to take in as much oxygen as possible. The slight taste of metallic blood spread over his mouth. He sighed. Perfect. Nevertheless, he tried to remember the lines he hadn't spoken in centuries. Back in his angelic days, they had been upon his lips all the time. They'd been his mantra, his purpose… However, at the day he had fallen, he had abandoned them. Actually, he had sworn himself, that if they'd ever slip from his mouth again, he'd cut his tongue out.

"Pater Noster,  
qui es in caelis,  
sanctificetur nomen tuum.  
Adveniat regnum tuum.  
Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo, et in terra.  
Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie.  
Et dimitte nobis debita nostra,  
sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris.  
Et ne nos inducas in tentationem: sed libera nos a malo.  
Quia tuum est regnum et potestas et Gloria in saecula.  
Amen. "

The first lines caused his tongue to cramp, refusing to obey, but he forced himself to go on. His throat went dry, like the collar was getting tighter with every word. Finally, he finished those nasty words. Now the difficult part.

"Gabriel, can you hear me? Come on you, arrogant pigeon, I know you can hear me. Pick up! For once in a lifetime do something useful and listen to me!" he yelled, not minding if his hostage takers would hear him. His despair grew with every second he wasn't receiving an answer. Then he snapped "FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE GABRIEL… I AM BEGGING YOU!" he screamed at the top of his lungs.

"What is it you foul fiend?" the voice of the archangel echoed through his head, worsening his throbbing headache. However, his relief out weight the pain. "Gabriel…" he whispered in relief. "Gabriel it's important! The humans have taken Aziraphale hostage for using his divine powers for themselves." He burst out. "You have to save him, before… before…" he stumbled over his own words, not able to speak off those terrible things.

"We know." The Archangel answered casually, while Crowley was still trying to explain the situation to them. "Before they make his powers their own and doom the wor- WAIT?!" his eyes widened in shock once again. His entire body tensed, causing the pain to jolt through it over and over. "You know? How can you know? I mean…" he could barely find any words to express his shock and anger at this point. "Then why hasn't anybody ssssaved him yet?!" he yelled back all of sudden. "He's soft. And a traitor. He was captured while he tried to protect you. The divine council has turned its back on him. He will either fall or die." Gabriel replied completely careless. "What… But he's… he has been loyal to you all these centuries… You can't just let him die… We both know he will never fall from grace!" he was close to sobbing, but still tried to sound reasonable. "Don't… Don't punish him for my mistakes! He never… it was all my fault! Help him out of there… Gabriel…" he begged fully despaired.

"No. He knew he was playing with fire. Unfortunately, it was clear that it would burn him sooner or later. Now, stop wasting my time, the chorus is waiting for me." He replied a hint of sadism hidden in his voice. Obviously pleased with the outcome of their arrangement. "GABRIEL YOU FUCKER! DON'T HANG UP NOW… Gabriel…" Crowley felt a few hot tears stream down his cheeks. How could they? They, who always pretended to be the better, the greater, the righteous side, leave one of their loyal comrades to his death… This had to be a nightmare… all of this.

He curled up as much as he could… Now there was only one option left… praying to hell.


	6. I got nobody left to believe in

This call would definitely seal his fate.

No matter, how this would turn out they'd see him a traitor and either leave him to the cruel experiments of mankind or eliminate him themselves. Basically, he had nothing to lose anymore. Expect for his best friend, who he was determined to save.

Hell, or better said demons were always open for trades, as long as they were in their favor, one-sided and contained the suffering of their victim. Fortunately, he could serve them with all these things at the appropriate time. For once they'd be pleased, that he was asking for a favor. At least he didn't have to humiliate himself and beg them to answer his call, like that archangel wanker. After he had taken a deep breath, he let his life expire inside of his head one more time.

Damn, after the 14th century his existence really had taken a very pleasant turn. All these temptations, guilty pleasures, and other abominations. He had been a master of his trade. Actually, his life had been quite fulfilling, he thought, but then a picture flashed up in front of his eyes. A prominent smile. The most beautiful smile he had ever seen. Brown orbs filled with so much love and hope. Flawless teeth, perfect lips, sweet wrinkles around the edges of his mouth… He sighed this was the point of no return. He had to be honest with himself now…

Otherwise his damned soul would never make peace with the fading of his existence. Those lips he had always desired to kiss. To taste. To feel. If he was honest, he had known it all along. A few decades after the fall of the roman empire he had realized it… He had lost his heart to that angel. To a bloody angel.

Of course, he would have never admitted that… At the beginning he didn't even wanted to believe it himself. He had convinced himself, that those feelings would vanish over the years. However here he was, being the one to blame for the… the most precious soul on this entire planted -no, the entire universe- had fallen into heaven's disgrace. Also got tortured by those maniac megalomaniacs. He felt like losing his mind. To be honest he wasn't sure if his sanity was even existing anymore. A despaired, high-pitched chuckle slipped from his bruised lips. The burning hate towards all higher instances boiled up inside of him. It was all their fault!

Their eternal quarrel about who was more powerful had already demanded thousands of souls… But this time? This time they had gone too far. An angry hiss slipped from his lips… He was pretty sure he wouldn't make it out of here alive. However, if he miraculously survived, he'd choose their side. Aziraphale's and his side. Then he'd make them pay… The thought of revenge soothed him a little. Dumb fantasies. They wouldn't save him anyway.

For a few bitter-sweet seconds he allowed himself to indulge in memories… Memories of the better days. Back then, when he didn't have to worry about the state of his angel, because he had known that they would always be the constant in each other's lives. Their dinners. That soft, slightly intimidated smile, he had flashed him whenever they had gotten closer to each other. His angelic voice, "forgiving" him everything he had ever done. This time… This time he wouldn't forgive him. However, Crowley didn't want to be forgiven. A few more tears streamed down his cheeks, when he remembered Aziraphale calling him "my dear." That was true. He had always been his dearest and longest friend, still the demon had never managed to call him by another nickname than "Angel". In his eyes he had always been the only true angel, in this damned hellhole they called universe.

His head hit the wooden floor painfully, when they drove over another bump on the street. The pain shot through his body, challenging his bruised nerves. The shock enabled him to pull himself together. Right focus. "Laudate dominus tenebris, et in tenebris copias, ut audiat" (Praise the dark emperor, may the forces of darkness hear me!)" he hissed as clearly as he could.

It didn't take longer than a few seconds, when the Hastur's annoyed voice echoed through his head. "What the hell is it Crowley?" Never before had Crowley been so happy to hear that bastard's voice. "Hastur! I…" he didn't know what to say at first. "What? Usually, you don't have a problem talking either, flashy bastard. Did you mess up something?" he asked full of anticipation. For a second Crowley wanted to directly hang up again, but he took a deep breath. Pride was misplaced here. After a few seconds of silence, he cleared his throat. "Kind… of." He admitted embarrassed.

Immediately, he felt the prong break from his crown as soon as he had confessed this. His colleague escaped a high-pitched, malicious snicker. "Oh, oh, oh Crowley, what is it?" he asked excitedly, barely able to contain his gloating. "Okay. It's enough now, you retarded, old-fashioned bastard." He hissed back, obviously angry now. "I have underestimated the humans. They lured me into a trap, I am currently tied up in the back of a van." He started to explain his situation, but he only earned an even louder laugh. "enslaved by humans. The great Crowley!" Hastur sounded like he was about to go insane. "SSSSHUT IT!" the ginger ordered strictly. Who knew when they'd arrive at their destination, he was running out of time! "Alright, Alright. So, what do you want? Want me to come over and save your arrogant ass?" the older demon asked, still interrupted by snickers.

"Actually… No." Crowley admitted, taking a deep breath. This was harder than he had thought. However, the constant aching inside of his chest, reminded him off the importance of his actions. "What? What else do you want?" Hastur bluffed surprised. "Mankind has found out about our existence they are aware of the fact that demons and also angels exist. That's not the worst part, they have captured Aziraphale and me, for using our powers for winning this war. And… It's all my fault." He began but got interrupted again. "WHAT?! How could this happen? For Satan's sake! Crowley you're dead meat to us! This is more than a failure. Why don't you miracle your ass out oft here, so we can give you the necessary punishment. How did they even capture you?" he hissed into the phone, still full of joy. "I can't they have used divine powers to block my abilities. However, listen to me now. I know I am dead meat." Crowley replied, slightly beginning to worry.

"You need to stop them from gaining to much power. Please free the angel from their force! We can't risk that they have divine power up their sleeves or even turning it against us!" he begged, sounding almost despaired. "Who cares about that bloody angel? Be glad, he's gone. Also, he's definitely not our department. You sound like a nasty traitor." Hastur denied his beg, sounding disgusted to the bone. Crowley took a deep breath, who had thought sealing one's own fate was that difficult?

"How stupid can an immortal creature be? Obviously, the upper department isn't going to save him. So, we are weakened, since nobody stops the Nazis from gaining holy powers. They have already enslaved me!" he contradicted, trying to sound annoyed again. "I don't care if I get blamed for this. Hastur get him out of there. NOW!" he ordered strictly. Immediately all the snickering, also joy died down on the other side of the phone.

"Crowley… You are not in the position to give anyone orders here. Your sacrifice to save this damned angel is definitely treason." He stated angrily. "Let it be treason. I don't care. I can offer you a deal. Get him out of there. Leave me to them, or you can bath my head in a pool of holy water yourself but get him out of there. You will never be forced to see my face again. Hear my voice. You even could take my place up here. Come on Hastur. You'd give your right arm for my position! The principalities would love you. Hastur the great defeater of mankind!" he tried to convince him.

To his disappointment he only earned another manic laugh "Forget it. I will not save anyone. This problem, your problem, will solve itself. You are a traitor Crowley. I always knew it. And now? You will get the punishment for that. You and that disgusting angel. Enjoy your last days on earth. I hope they are painful." With these words the Duke of hell hung up "NO! NO!" Crowley yelled after him, but only silence remained. The line was dead.

Pure rage took control now, causing him to rip onto his ties in a tantrum. He hissed, struggled against the restrains, swore, and screamed like a maniac. Unfortunately, his body wasn't in the condition to keep up with that energy level. As a result, he passed out once again.

The cover was pulled down from the cage, flooding it with burning sunlight. It banished the darkness, which had comforted the worn-out demon for the last hours of his transport. A metallic rattling followed, while the two soldiers undid the chains around the cage, they had attached rosaries to it. While the guards were working, general Strauß stood there, admiring his newest achievement.

Crowley's body was too weak to fight back, they detached the chains from the bottom of the cage, but he didn't stay up. Instead they had to pull him out, making his back land on the cold ground. Finally, his perception worked again. After a few dizzy blinks, his serpent eyes adjusted to the daylight. "Aufstehen!" (Get up!) one of the guards ordered, pulling on his collar, as if he was a dog. At first it choked him, then burnt his flesh, causing him to groan in pain. Actually, his muscles refused to work, but he forced them to stay up. There was only one option left. Managing to escape somehow. With Aziraphale.

His lowered head rose up, for scanning their surroundings. Finally, he knew why the streets had been so bumpy all the way. The were on top of a mountain. The area was bordered by a meter-high barbed wire fence, with gun turrets in between. They were enthroned threateningly above everything and their windows stared down at the small camp like falcon-eyes. Not even a mouse could have run across the huge open place in the middle without being noticed by them. To his surprise they weren't any other prisoners here. No barracks. Only three plainly built, box-shaped, grey concrete blocks, with high chimneys. All of them had barred windows, blocking out almost every sunray, also every spark of hope. The entire place had a deadly aura. This camp stunk off despair, fear, and death… Not a surprise.

The gravel under their feet crunched, while they approached one of the buildings. In front of it stood four guards, with machine guns. This had to be the place, where they'd hold them hostage. Crowley nearly fell to the ground. Every step felt like as if there were anvils tied to his angles. However, he kept stumbling after the general in front of him. Damn, how much he despised that man.

They passed by two other buildings, one of the was slightly taller. The inconspicuousness was almost frightening. There they had to do their disgusting experiments; he was sure. The smell of blood nestled in his nose, proving his suspicion. All of sudden a different smell tickled his nose. His eyes widened. Without noticing it he ripped onto the chains, while turning towards the building. The smell off lavender, incense and… and old books. His guts cringed. Aziraphale. They kept him there. He wanted to run. To rip that door open and save him… "Weitergehen!" (Move!) the guard ordered strictly, ripping onto the collar, so he was stumbling after them again. "I will help you my friend…" he whispered silently. A loud growl left his lips, when they opened the door of his "new home".

Inside everything was dark. However, his night vision didn't do him a favor here. The walls were covered in white tiles, easy to clean. Nevertheless, they were stained with blood… He knew whose blood this was… His nausea intensified. There were two cells, both of the bars different, one metal had a slightly darker shade, while the other one was completely silver. The room was soaked in the smell of fear and despair. On top of that with Aziraphale's smell. Barely any torture could have been worse.

"Where is he?!" he yelled at Strauß, slowly losing the last rest of self-control. "He's currently receiving his daily treatment. Don't be jealous, tomorrow you will get it as well." The general replied with a sadistic smirk. "Let him go! We had a deal!" Crowley demanded, shooting forward, but the guards hit his back with their clubs. Immediately, his legs gave out. He hit the cold, tiled floor with a loud groan. "Plans have changed, we won't set any of you free." Adolf Strauß announced with a vicious chuckle. "But don't worry, you soon will feel at home." He promised him sadistically. "you bastard... you… lying wanker… I swear to Satan if I ever get out of here…" Crowley started to threaten him. Suddenly, they grabbed his legs and threw him into the cell with the lighter bars. The impact on the wall, made his spine dug into his lungs, he gasped for air. "Good night Mr. Crowley." Strauß wished him, before slamming the door shut, leaving him to the darkness of the room and his own mind.


	7. Only the good die young

"Fuck!" he yelled, through gritted teeth. Meanwhile, his numb hands slumped onto the floor beside him.

This was all his fault. Why had he over-estimated his own abilities? Especially since that was one of the traits, he had always critiqued the most about either heaven or hell. Here he sat now. Useless. Humiliated. Just like all of them. A tool for the higher purpose of another party.

All of their principalities had let them down. Left them here to croak. Those bastards. If his rage hadn't filled out the whole inside of his chest, he would have already curled up on the floor crying. This was all so unreal.

Not even in his darkest nightmares he could have imagined ending up under the force of a bunch of Nazi pigs. The name of his best… no… the name of the love of his life carved into his soul with holy water, mixed with guilt. "For satan's sake, why him?" he mumbled, not caring about the fact he was talking to himself.

His nerves were shivering due to the boiling rage inside of him. He felt like a caged-up animal. His "claws" dug into the fabric off his sleeves, his knuckles turning white. By now his jaw was so tensed, he felt like his teeth were extracted with a rusty pair of pillars. He tried relaxing only causing a suffocated sob to escape his petrified body. A panting breath followed. Apparently, he had forgotten to inhale for the past minutes.

Blankly he stared at the wall across the room. Due to the missing daylight in the room, the white tiles appeared grey. Yet the blood stains stuck out extremely.

Blood stains… Blood stains who weren't supposed to be there. Blood stains who had no permission to even exist. They were mocking him. Witnessed his failure. Stared back at him like thousand blood-red eyes. They ate through his flesh, directly into his guts. None of them blinked. He was hypnotized, at the same time disgusted by them. A testimony for his angel's suffering.

He couldn't take it. Suddenly he snapped out of the rigidity induced by shock, causing his hands to shoot up to his face. The sharp pain of his nails digging into his skin didn't bother him. As long as he could cover his eyes. Hot blood dwelled out of the scratches his fingernails left on his skin.

Maybe if he tore off the skin from his face, the pressure inside of him would escape from his head. The chains of the handcuffs burnt into his skin as well. Branded him with the marks of defeat.

If he had been in control of his body, he would have screamed. Just screamed. Cried. Sobbed for forgiveness. Pointless attempts to prevent himself from slipping into insanity.

His breathing turned into uncontrolled gasping, causing his lungs to fill with needles instead of oxygen. Immediately his hands scratched down to his neck, trying to fight off the invisible hands that were choking him.

The battle with himself turned into a fight of agony.

Inside of his mind the pressure increased with every thought. Every evidence of his failure. Choirs of mockery echoed in his mind. Maniac snickers. The accusations were the worst. "STOP IT!" he yelled out; his voice was hoarse, close to cracking. A violent sob followed.

"I AM SORRY…" he whimpered over and over, trying to ease their anger. "I am so sorry…" his muscles gave out in that extreme state of panic and despair, causing him to fall to the cold ground. There he curled up.

He didn't know how long he laid there. How often he had yelled at the imaginary judges. How much he had cried… Never before he had failed like this… All these centuries he had never lost so overwhelmingly. From now, since back then in Eden…

Eden…

All of sudden, his demons were banished by one sentence. A few words, yet so powerful to silence the rampage inside of his body.

"Until the Ashes of Eden fall…" slipped from his bruised lips, like the last prayer of a wounded soldier.

Finally, the control over his body returned. Eventually, he managed to relax his tired muscles. Fatigue was trying to take over him now, but he resisted the urge to flee into sleep. Instead, he forced his shivering hands to push him up from the cold ground.

"Until the Ashes of Eden fall." He repeated, this time a little more confident. During the past hours his body had gotten used to the pain. So, the unbearable torture had turned into a terribly painful, constant throbbing of every nerve in his body. After a few calming breaths, he managed to lean with his back against the cold wall. Eyes closed so he could focus on his own thoughts. The few that weren't completely insane yet.

He needed getting them out of here. Or at least Aziraphale. Long ago he had sworn himself he wouldn't stop fighting against him until the Ashes of Eden fell… Here and now he wouldn't stop fighting for him until the Ashes of Eden fell…

Fell… Fallen… FALLING! That was it! That was the key… He didn't know if this idea was a brainwave or pure madness. A wince shot through his body when he thought about the pain off falling. Still, it couldn't be worse than dying after weeks of being tortured alive. On every other day in his life, he would have done everything to prevent the angel from falling.

Right now, it was their only hope. Apparently, the only way out of this hell, was marching through the real hell. If he could convince Aziraphale to fall from his belief, he'd fall. Afterwards, all the restraints would be useless. They'd make it out of here… alive…

A strange mixture out of hope and despair caused a new shot of adrenalin to rush through his veins. He'd stay by his side while falling… take care of him afterwards. This was their only chance. A hoarse snicker escaped him.

Afterwards, he'd be the reason why the Ashes of Eden would fall… It would bury the heinous Nazi regime and soak up their blood. If he had had them with him, he'd put his sunglasses back on.

It must have been around midnight. At least Crowley's sense of time told him that. Silence filled the air of the cell, only interrupted by the demon's heavy breath from time to time. His head shot up, when he heard heavy footsteps approaching. Immediately his thoughts were silenced.

With all the concentration he had left, he tried to figure out how many soldiers were approaching. The crunching of the gravel made it difficult to count the number of people. One… two… three… four… he counted. Their steps were too weighty. Maybe they carried something? Now his interest was awoken fully.

Like a bug he crawled towards the bars of his cell, staring into the darkness, where the door was supposed to be. Of course, he made sure not to touch them. "Come on… Come on… Be with them…" he mumbled to himself. Yellow eyes shot through the darkness impatiently. A metallic screeching ripped the silence like a bullet, followed by the sound of the keys being turned in the lock.

The darkness outside was a whole different kind than the one inside the dungeon. It was lighter, less heavy. Quickly it fought back the despair-soaked darkness inside. Nearly Crowley's face would have touched the bars, while he unintentionally crawled closer. The tension inside of him build up more and more. Almost ripping his muscles.

"Aufpassen!" (Watch out!) one of the guards ordered, while stepping inside first. His strong back was facing him, blocking the view. Two other hulking men entered the room. They were carrying something on a stretcher covered under a white, blood stained fabric.

Crowley's heartbeat stopped, only for starting again three times as fast as before. His entire body was shivering again. By now his guts were cramping so much, he was close to vomiting. "Aziraphale…" he whispered in pure defeat. None of the horror scenarios in his mind could have prepared him for that terrible sight.

"Verdammt, wieso ist der Bastard so schwer? Sie haben ihn doch seit Wochen ausgehungert?" (Damn it, why is this bastard so heavy? I thought they had starved him for weeks now?) one of the soldiers complained.

An angry growl slipped past Crowley's lips. He wanted to rip them into pieces, shove their hearts up their asses… Humans were simply disgusting creatures. For him they truly were the reflection of god.

They sat down the stretcher in the middle of the other cell but did not remove the fabric. What had they done to him, so they needed covering him like this? Crowley was dying to find out. At the same times dying to not look at this horrible sight. It would burn itself into his memory forever… "leave…" he hissed towards them. Luckily, they didn't speak a single word English apparently and just ignored him.

Finally, they slammed the cell door shut. "Abrücken!" (March off!) The leader of the guards allowed them. The skinheads turned around on their heels. Years of training paid off. They didn't even dare to look any other way than right outside the door. Crowley was glad, they didn't.

His attention was glued to the white silhouette on the opposite side of the room. "Aziraphale…?" he whispered, barely audible. The fear of what was about to be revealed made him hesitate. Could he face him now? In this state? Would he be angry? Sad? Even able to talk? There was no other way than finding it out himself. "Aziraphale…" he called out once again.

His entire body refused to move. He was frozen in place. Not even the painful throbbing inside of his body caused him to shiver. Neither the collar, nor his panting breath, nor his chains were torturing him anymore. Only the uncertainty if his angel was still alive.

"AZIRAPHLE!" he called out in pure despair; his voice cracked halfway. Hot tears dwelled up again, nearly blinding him. "Please…" he whimpered. Something he had never done before… Beg… "Please… It's me. Crowley! Crawley! I don't care… Aziraphale." He continued pleading, slithering closer to the dangerous bars. "This is all my fault…" he burst out. "I am so sorry…" he sobbed harder, being grateful for not needing oxygen.

He felt like crippled vermin. Suddenly his knees gave out. He fell to the ground in front of the bars, that separated them. Blurry eyesight tried catching a single sign of life. "For god's sake… please." He whispered in agony. With his last strength the tried to reach out for him.

His arms ached, while the chains ripped open the wounds around his wrists. He didn't care. Without paying attention to his own pain, he stretched his entire body. The chain between the left and right handcuff got stuck at the bars. A hissing sound echoed through the cell, followed by the smell of burnt flesh. "Argh! Fuck!" he swore, when his palm of his right hand got burnt by the steel.

Still he didn't give up. With his index finger he tried getting a hold of the clothing that hid his friend from. His breath panted harder. He gritted his teeth, biting his tongue. A few swears slipped from his lips. With two fingers he managed to get a hold of the surprisingly heavy fabric.

"I am here…" he whispered, hoping to spend his angel a bit of comfort, even though he still wasn't sure if he was still alive. He took a deep breath and tried to rip away the cover. Due to his weak state, he couldn't remove it. Instead, it slipped a bit to the side. Defeated Crowley fell to the floor, his face resting on the cold floor. Rock bottom.

He was about to give up. Simply give in. When an invisible movement caught his attention. At first, he couldn't believe his eyes. But he forced them to focus. They were fixed onto the top ending of the stretcher and… there it was… it raised up and down nearly unnoticeably. It was there… he was there… "alive…" the demon breathed out in relief.

Even though he couldn't have been happier about this realization, he couldn't bare starring at him all the time. It only reminded him off all the torture, the pain… the misery. His head turned to the side. Now he was staring at the wall opposite to Aziraphale's cell.

There on the ground laid something, that was valiantly curbing the darkness around it. A white spot. Like a star in the night sky. A shimmer off hope. The longer he looked at it the sharper he could see it. It was feather… An angel's feather. He felt the lump in his throat grow.

Over there in a puddle of dirty water laid one of Aziraphale's feathers. Soaked with mud… and… blood. The symbolism in this was so crushing, Crowley felt like going insane once again. The feather over there had been plugged by these monsters… stained with blood and dirt… broken… besmeared with their terrible intentions. Yet it was still glowing. Spending hope…

He would reform Aziraphale's innocence.


End file.
